


Project A

by Amaya_Ithilwen



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Canon-Typical Humor, Canon-typical Cursing, Hurt, Lost Memory, M/M, New bonding, remembering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 08:01:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4052506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaya_Ithilwen/pseuds/Amaya_Ithilwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grif saves Simmons from getting hit by Jensen unsucessfully driving a car.<br/>Only thing, when waking up, Grif doesn't remember he did that.</p><p>Actually, he doesn't remember a single thing. Not even his own name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s been a while since the Blood Gulch Crew stranded on Chorus. After the turbulent events upon their arrival, things calmed down a bit. Their days consisted mostly of training their lieutenants, training themselves (voluntarily or not), doing some chores, cleaning their weapons and equipment, and going to tactical meetings… Shit like that.

Or well, they were supposed to do all this shit. Grif didn’t really think of only doing half of it. Not even a quarter of this work. Standing around and ‘training’ the lieutenants was even too much work. Whenever he could, he snuck away, slacking off a bit. Smoking a cigarette (Or two or three) and having a nap. It was an easy life like that.  
If there wouldn’t be Simmons standing some meters away, arguing loudly with Donut.

“No, Donut, we won’t make a movie-night and watch your fucking cheesy movies!”  
“Aaaw, why not?” Donuts pout was evident in his voice.  
“Because he have tons of work to do! Grif slacking off is enough! And not everybody likes this kind of movies!”  
“Oh, come on! We have enough free time for at least one movie. Besides, don’t tell me you wouldn’t love to cuddle to Grif when the teary part starts.” This time the grin was audible, the comment making Simmons splutter.  
“I-you-what!? I never would do that!”

Grif decided that it was enough of the banter, getting up to shoo these two idiots away to get a proper afternoon-nap. At least this was the plan. When Donut noticed Grif showing up, he scurried the fuck away with the biggest grin possible, leaving a still beet red and spluttering Simmons behind.  
The cyborg didn’t even notice the shouted announcement of Jensen, obviously again trying to unsuccessfully drive a car without crashing into something.

Of course (What else!?) Simmons stood right in the fucking middle of the street, Jensen already beginning to panic that she couldn’t find the brake pedal. Of course. It was right beside the accelerator pedal, but finding it was harder than a needle in a haystack. Figures…  
“Simmons watch out!” Grif didn’t really think over this whole situation. He just saw his best friend in the direct driving line of the car, the cyborg still oblivious to the approaching danger.

He still cursed Wash for forcing him to join the leg days he put up for Tucker, but exactly this training helped him getting to Simmons before the car. Merely moments before the car would hit Simmons, Grif managed to push him roughly out of the danger zone, making him fall on the ground with a very unmanly scream/yelp.

The last thing Grif noticed was his head colliding painfully with the bonnet when the car hit him instead of Simmons. He briefly wondered how it was possible to have such a painful impact when Jensen wasn’t even driving fast enough (Seriously, a pedestrian would walk faster than Jensen is driving). After that, there was only darkness.

 

The first thing that got Simmons out of his spluttering-fit was a painfully hard shove on his right side, sending him stumbling away several steps.

The next thing was the sound of two things colliding.

Simmons didn’t dare to look around. He didn’t want to see what happened. But of course he had to look around. There was a car, Jensen sitting at the steering wheel, frozen like a statue. Her helmet hid her features, but Simmons was sure it was shock.  
Following her gaze, his eyes soon landed on a familiar orange figure, laying halfway on the bonnet. He just began to fall off the car as the energy of the impact disappeared.

“Oh my god! Grif!” with three huge steps he was over at the Hawaiians side, gently laying him down on the ground.  
“Grif! Grif!” No answer. He seemed unconscious.

Other soldiers gathered, decoyed by the sound of the crash, obviously curios what happened.  
“Someone get Grey! Now!” squeaked Simmons, feeling the panic rising in his chest. Frantically, he began to search Grifs body for any visible injury. There was none. The redhead couldn’t decide if it was for the better or not.

His whole world turned into a blur when Grey arrived and immediately ordered to get Grif to the medical area. Simmons tried to get some information out, but the normally cheery and talkative doc didn’t say a word. Until the examination was over.

Grif was wearing his favorite sweaters and shirt after the medics stripped him off his armor to examine him properly.  
Luckily, he was blissfully unaware of this whole treatment as he was still unconscious. The cyborg on the opposite side of the doors however was pacing the floor, waiting impatiently to get news from his best friends’ examination. If he wouldn’t be allowed to go in within the next thirty minutes, he would simply knock down the door and walk right in to see if his best friend/brother in arms/bunkmate and… well… okay, crush too, was okay.

When Grey came out, she didn’t even had time to really put her helmet back on, when Simmons already was standing in front of her, questions tumbling out of his mouth. Grey only giggled.  
“Your boyfriend will be fine Simmons. Don’t worry.” When she mentioned boyfriend, Simmons turned beet red again, spluttering something incoherent. Unfortunately, he had to take his fucking helmet off earlier because he felt like suffocating. Grey now seeing his flaming red face making her giggle harder.

This time however, she seemed to decide to not tease Simmons for once about his more than obvious crush on Grif (According to the others), continuing with her explanation.  
“He just hit his head and will have a headache and a bump, but he’s fine otherwise. We have to wait for Grif to wake up, so we can definitively assess his mental state. I think he has a moderate concussion at least. Well, I gotta go now, although I would love to do some experiments while he’s holding still.” Simmons glared daggers at her, which she blatantly ignored. “Anyway, he is sleeping. I think that he should wake up soon. You can go in if you want.”

Gently prying her arm off Simmons death grip (when did he grab her arm anyway?) she walked down the hallway, one of the medics appearing and obviously asking for her help. Seconds after, she disappeared round a corner with quick steps.

Simmons awkwardly stood in front of the door, not really knowing what he should do. When he wasn’t allowed to get in he would have done everything to get in. Now that he was cleared for visitors, he suddenly felt too timid and self-conscious. What if Grif didn’t want to see him? When he was angry with him? After the first shock, Simmons had puzzled together the happenings pretty fast, but he was still not sure how Grif would react. On the other hand, Grif still deserved a proper thank you from Simmons for saving him.

In the end, he decided to give it a go, even if it only was to say thanks to him when he wakes up, and carefully walked into the room. As Grey said, Grif was still sleeping. Under his black hair, Simmons could see a pretty big bump on the right temple. As of Grey, there should be no heavy injuries. At least. Simmons let out his breath he didn’t know he held it, carefully walking over to Grif. He felt like any too loud noise could startle Grif.

Sitting down on the chair standing beside the bed, the cyborg mustered the features of his best friend. Remembering the accidents, they went through up to now.  
This here, the most recent, Simmons had a fucking bad conscience. In the end, it had been Simmons own fault that the Hawaiian had gotten hurt. If he hadn’t been standing in the middle of a driveway, nothing would have happened.

Or the time after the Meta incident. Grifs hands had to get surgically treated and the cuts sewn. He had torn them open when he went over the cliff. Gripping for everything he could reach to try to hold on to the sharp ice underneath the snow went directly through the Kevlar-gloves they were wearing. Well, the gloves were ruined as well as his hands.  
As the treatment would have been too painful to do the surgery when he was conscious, Sarge decided to ‘put him to sleep’. With the butt of his shotgun. Headache for free.

Or the time when Grif had gotten run over by the Tank, where Simmons became half robot. The Hawaiian had been out cold for several days before slowly coming back. All this time Simmons had to live with the nagging question if Grif would ever wake up again and what person he would be after such an experience. He already heard and read about people’s character changing completely when they had a near death experience.

All these times, and even more, he had been sitting beside Grifs bed, waiting for him to wake up. Like today. He sat on the chair, closely by his bed to help if he needed some, but enough space to keep his distance and not making him feel like he’s getting overrun.

Hours passed by. Simmons would sit with Grif whenever his duties allowed it, anxiously waiting for Grif to wake up. He laid there in the same position the cyborg had met him right after the accident. If it wasn’t for the regular rising and falling of his chest, Simmons could have sworn the Hawaiian was no longer alive.

 

Slowly, Grif clawed his way back up to consciousness. He felt a massive headache behind his eyes and felt like run over by a fucking Tsunami. Fuck, what happened?

Trying to assess the situation, he felt that he was lying in a bed, the chemical scent in the air making it pretty clear that he was in a hospital. He felt horrible. Really, what happened?  
He had no fucking clue. He remembered absolutely nothing. He could have gotten run over by a tank or just fell out of his bed. However, he must have hit his head pretty bad as it hurt like a bitch.

Opening his eyes, first thing he noticed was an almost complete blackness. Must be in the middle of the fucking night and as he knew the hospital, there would be no nurse around to look after him right away to give him some medicaments for his headache. Great time to wake up, Grif.

Groaning again, he blinked the bleary vision away to see better. Only to see the blackness of the room more sharp than before.  
“Grif, good god, you’re finally awake! You made us worry!” Almost jumping through the roof (or out of the bed) when someone spoke up next to him. His eyes were wide, frantically searching for the source of the voice. Soon he found the face of a redhead, obviously the source of the noise.  
The redhead hesitated. “Uh- sorry, I didn’t meant to scare you.”

“’S okay.” God his voice was slurry like he’s plastered. He looked around, everything looking strangely twisted in the dark.  
“Where am I?” he asked a bit anxiously. He wasn’t afraid of the dark, but this place was creepy.

The redhead beside him blinked. “You… are in the hospital.”  
He shortly contemplated the answer. It was obvious, thinking of it, that he was in a hospital. He must have hit his head or something that he was in a hospital.

Whatever happened seemed to have caused enough damage or inflict enough bad injuries that he had to be taken to the hospital.  
He tried to remember, but there still was this big black hole there, where his memories should be. He couldn’t remember what happened. He couldn’t remember how he got to the hospital.

It was only logical that this question would get vocalized, as his memory seemed to fail him.  
“You got hit by a car when you pushed me aside. I wanted to say thank you for saving me, Grif.” Was the muttered answer.  
“Uh, it’s okay.” He blinked. Did he really save him?

A silence settled in, before he then asked, his voice much more silent than before.  
“Who are you? And… who am I?”

 

“And who are you? And… who am I?”  
Simmons heart felt like it shattered into thousands of little pieces. Grif had just woken up from unconsciousness, looking halfway okay.  
Then, after a short small talk, he asks who he is and who Simmons is.

The cyborg felt like curling up to a ball and start to cry when he saw Grif sitting there, looking at him expectantly without knowing what happened the last twelve years of his life.

“You- you’re Dexter Grif and you come from Honolulu, Hawaii. You prefer being called Grif.” Explained the cyborg, swallowing around the forming lump in his throat. He desperately tried to mask his wailing up emotions behind a neutral, yet more friendly mask.  
“So that was me you called earlier?” asked Grif

Simmons smiled watery; the smile slipped a bit to the sad side. “Exactly.”  
“And who are you?”  
“My name is Richard Simmons. But I prefer going by Simmons.”  
“Wait.” A huge grin exploded on Grifs features. “Your name is Dick?” Grif started laughing, only to cringe a second later because his head seemed to hurt.  
Simmons however felt thrown back about twelve years. Their first meeting had went down the same. Grif making inappropriate jokes about his name.

Back then, Simmons had been angry and furious. Now he was just sick of it, not really wanting to fight over this again.  
“Yes, my name is Dick. But as I said, I prefer going by Simmons.” Replied the redhead in a defeated voice.  
“Anyway.” Standing up briskly, Simmons wiped imaginary dust off his clothes. “I better go look for a nurse to check you up. Looks like you have amnesia. She also can tell you more about where you are and what happened.” Explained the maroon armored soldier shortly, walking out the door with fast steps.

Walking down the hall, he either wanted to find a nurse to check on Grif, but he also needed to get away. Somehow, it was a relief that the nurse on the night shift insisted on Simmons staying outside Grifs room when she checked him up and talked to him.  
Soon after the nurse went in, Doctor Grey appeared, also going into the room. Her smile only meant that she would go psycho-analyze the chubby Hawaiian because of his amnesia. Simmons didn’t feel like interfering.

The redhead focused on writing a message to his friends to tell them that Grif was awake, but they probably should wait some more days because Grif couldn’t remember them. Fuck, he didn’t even know his own name!  
Wash was still awake; texting back that he would make sure nobody would overrun Grif. And that everything would work out. That everything would work out eventually.  
The maroon armored soldier smiled sadly, texting back his thanks and that he appreciated the pep talk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif and Simmons try to adjust to the new Situation. Some doing better than others.

“And then, you drove this fucking car through the wall like it’s some kind of fucking badass battering ram!”

Grif, previously sitting on the bed, now laying and laughing loudly until tears were streaming down his face.

“Oh shit, that must have been a shitload of fun!” wheezed the Hawaiian. “You can bet your stash of Oreos on it.” For the first time in days, Simmons was able to smile genuinely.

 

The picture of a grinning Grif, tears still clinging to the corners of his eyes, was just adorable. Normally, Dex wouldn’t grin or laugh so genuinely. This laugh was open and honest. Maybe he could laugh like that because he didn’t remember the cruelties which happened to him during the last years, making him to the sarcastic and cynical person he had been before.

 

Some days had passed since Grif had woken up, not remembering anything. Grey said that this could happen after a hit to the head; most likely, his memories would come back after some days. Wash decided to make Simmons Grifs personal guardian. The maroon armored soldier knew the Hawaiian best to answer almost every question Grif would have and knew how to put up with his moods.

 

Grif moved back to his room and Wash made the others covering Simmons and Grifs duties. First, Simmons hadn’t been too happy to be a burden for the others. But his friends flipped him off, saying that he had a more time consuming duty. Looking out for Grif.

 

However, they were in their room now, it was early evening and Grif still had the order to stay in bed. They had a pretty awkward scene where Simmons asked if Grif was okay living here.

 

They had been bunkmates before, but if he wanted a room on his own, Simmons would look with Kimball to apply to his wish. Luckily, Grif denied that, saying that he was okay like that, as long as he would have his own bed to lay on. Simmons laughed and said that it was maybe better like that.

 

Grifs concussion still wasn’t fully healed. Straining it wouldn’t also help his amnesia. Maybe some more days and he would join the training with the other recruits.

 

Although Simmons had the suspicion that Grif would remember the fighting because it had gotten some kind of reflex by now. He also just knew things. Like that them sharing a room was a given since years.

 

It was strange at first, but somehow it fueled Simmons hope that there still could be the original Grif around somewhere. That Grif hadn’t gotten lost completely, but that he was still somewhere in there and just needed to get dug out of the dirt covering his personality and his memories.

 

He wasn’t sure why he was still hoping that the Grif he knew would come back. With every passing day, the hope that Grif would remember fully vanished into thin nothingness. Yet, Simmons still clung to this hope like it’s a fucking lifeline.

 

* * *

 

“Yes sir!” answered Grif enthusiastically to a rather idiotic order of his commanding officer, Sarge. Although Grif doubted that Sarge actually was his real name. Honestly, who’s going to name his child ‘Sarge’? What a fucking idiotic name. But well, he introduced himself as Sarge and Simmons and the others, he already forgot half of the names again, referred to him with that name. So it probably was his name.

 

Said red armored soldier stood there for some moments, looking at Grif before turning around briskly and walking away. Did he do something wrong that Sarge was looking at him so long? Walking away to the storage area to again check the weaponry and clean every gun.

 

They had gotten cleaned by this teal guy from ‘blue-team’ minutes ago. Sarge rambled something about to not trust those filthy blues, which led to the order for Grif to again clean the weapons. Walking to the storage area, Grif still pondered about the possible mistakes he could have made.

 

After checking through the crates, Grif began to disassemble, clean and reassemble every gun, working quickly, but thorough all the same.

 

He didn’t know how he had been before the accident with Jensen. The girl had shown up some days ago, apologizing again and again. (God had this girl a fucking horrible lisp) He accepted the apologies, only asking her to try improving her driving skills in lesser a crowded area.

 

It felt like being newly born. He didn’t remember one single thing from earlier. Not a bit. Not even his name. They could tell him that his name was Mother Fucker he would have believed it. He was a completely blank page. Not remembering something might be a blessing. To start all over again.

 

But it was also a curse, not knowing what happened earlier what made people the way they were. Besides knowing exactly that you forgot something important. He knew there was something. Nagging at him worse than hunger. He just couldn’t find out what it was that kept him up at night sometimes.

 

He would often ask his bunkmate about different things. Often this Simmons-guy would try to brush up the truth. Luckily, he was rather bad at hiding things or lying. However, when Grif asked Simmons about this important thing, he only shrugged. Obviously, Grif had never told him about that.

 

The other guy from blue team, who seemed to have been his best friend back then, didn’t know too. He made an idiotic comment about this feeling being the forgotten love for a special cyborg, but Grif whether could agree nor deny. He didn’t know it. Besides, who could he have meant? Simmons? He didn’t know

 

That was exactly the point making him nervous sometimes. He didn’t remember, but he just knew things about his ‘friends’. Like when Simmons hid something. Or this teal perv was about to make a sex-joke. Like when Wash, the CO of his CO, was confronted with something unusual or one of the perv’s jokes directed at him. Or when this little ghost-AI-thingy was being sarcastic or just an asshole (was there even a difference?)

 

He didn’t know what he should think of this whole situation. He wanted to remember, because he wanted to know who and how he was. Because he was fed up with the sympathetically glances from the people around him. He was fed up by the startled expression of some people when he was acting completely opposite of how he had been before – obviously. Just like Sarge some minutes ago.

 

On the other hand, he was fucking afraid of remembering. What if he had been an asshole? When he had been a horrible person to live with? When the only reason Simmons was rooming with him was that there was no other space available? When he was someone bad?

 

He really liked the redhead. He was a fucking nerd and easily to embarrass. But he also was there when he woke up – Every time. He was there to answer his question and probably the closest friend he had since he lost his memory. The first and closest.

 

He didn’t want to lose that when he was his old self. Maybe Simmons and the old Grif hated each other? Maybe they rather saw each other dead? Maybe Simmons was just being so nice because Grif didn’t remember and the maroon armored soldier saw an opportunity to get ‘rid’ of his enemy without needing to kill him and ruin his career?

 

Grif sighed. All those thoughts made him anxious and giddy. The more he pondered about this whole issue, the less was he sure if he really wanted to remember. Maybe it was better to start all over again when he had the possibility. Not everyone could do that. Luckily for him, most of the guys he called friends were open to him and his new character. Nobody obviously tried to press him into his old behavior.

 

He often seriously doubted if he still could do that. Sometimes, when he heard stories about his old self, he shakes his head, asking himself if he really had been that horrible or if they were just exaggerating.

 

* * *

 

Grif sat on his bed, observing his two mismatched hands of his. Simmons had already told him that he had gotten run over by a tank Tucker had driven. The following emergency surgery had taken place as soon as they had gotten ‘spare’ parts. However, Simmons had never told him where these parts came from.

 

Moreover, he would act strange, spluttering around and beating around the bush when he asked about this incident. He already tried to talk to Sarge, but noticed soon that this didn’t really help. He would only ramble about his glorious achievement of making Simmons a cyborg.

 

Lopez only talked Spanish, which didn’t help much more.

 

Caboose was also out of the count because he was the idiot of the Team. Donut would make up some kind of story spicing it up with something, which simply isn’t there.

 

Grif remembered once asking Donut why Tucker could speak Shangheili. When the pink armored guy was done, Grif felt like in the middle of a fucking fairytale of endless love between an alien and Tucker, ending in the ultimate sign of their love: A child. Unfortunately, the alien soon died tragically, making Tucker grieve and cry for months about that. Soon, Juniors time to leave his mom-dad to explore the world on his own and become a great hero came too, leaving Tucker again grieving and crying.

 

When he asked Tucker then, the teal armored guy first laughed is ass of, before answering: “I got knocked up by an alien. You know the movie? Okay, dumb question. Well, the alien impregnates a human being without them noticing. And the alien-baby claws it’s way out of your abdomen when ready to be born. Well, that happened to me. I got knocked up and out.” This explanation made much more sense.

 

However, back to the topic. Carolina and Wash hadn’t been around, Church couldn’t remember although having been around. He now knew that this Church-guy actually is a fragment of an AI, which had been living with the guys during this time. However, due to the earlier separation of Epsilon from Alpha he couldn’t remember because he hadn’t been around.

 

Leaves only one person. The guy who’s initially responsible for the accident and Grif looking like a fucking meat puzzle.

 

Walking over to the bunk of the teal armored soldier, he knocked shortly, waiting for Tucker to call him in. When no answer came, he knocked again. “Dude, since when are you so fucking polite? Normally you waltz in the room not caring what I’m doing.” Remarked Tucker when he opened the door. “Amnesia. Remember?” Grif tapped at his head with the index finger. “Oh yeah, right. Sorry, dude. Come in.”

 

Grif followed the dark skinned man, sitting down on the chair next to the desk. Wash already had forbidden him to sit on his bed and Grif didn’t want to sit on Tuckers. He didn’t fucking wanted to know what was living in there. And he rather didn’t want to get any STD from Tucker. Said guy plopped on his bed, looking over to him. “So what do you want to know?”

 

Grif shortly thought how to approach the subject, in the end deciding to take the bull at his horns. “Well, I actually wanted to ask you who this was I got the body parts from after you ran me over with a tank.” There was a short silence, an incredulous expression on Tuckers face. “Dude, didn’t he tell you that?” “Who? What?” Grif was confused. What was Tucker talking about?

 

“Didn’t you notice that Simmons is fucking half metal?” “Uh, yeah, but he told me that this was a project of Sarge he had volunteered.” “Yeah, because you were about to die because half of your body was squished by a tank.”

 

Again, a silence settled in, Grif pondering about the things he just heard. He felt Tuckers glance on him, suddenly feeling all fidgety. “So you’re saying that… I got Simmons body parts because he volunteered for Sarge’s project when I got ran over by a tank? Just to save me?”

 

“Yeah dude, he even punched Sarge. This asshole didn’t want to make you half cyborg because he thought it would be waste of material. Don’t take it too personal, dude, Sarge just hated your guts. However, Simmons then volunteered under the condition that you get these parts from Simmons. Sarge mumbled something about that being acceptable although it still was a waste, but he had no other use for the body parts. Secondly, he wanted to keep up his ‘no losses’ doctrine he has.”

 

“So Simmons did that to save me? But why? When Sarge thinks that I’m not worth living why then risking his own life?” Again, Tucker stared at him with an incredulous expression. “Since when are you such a suck-up? That’s normally Simmons department to be such a kiss-ass.” Grif shrugged somehow helplessly with his shoulders. “I don’t know. I don’t know how I had been before. And a good soldier should obey his superior. I’m just trying to do my best.”

 

Tucker snorted. “Before that, you wouldn’t have given a fuck about what Sarge told you to do or not. You slacked off, sneaked away to nap, eat or smoked, gave everyone the finger who told you to do something. Only Simmons was able to actually get you to do something occasionally. Although you mostly flipped him off too.” Tucker pointed to the door. “He’s the kiss-ass and” Tuckers index finger wandered to Grif. “You’re the lazy slacker, the sarcastic and cynic asshole who’s able to keep Simmons grounded.”

 

Grif felt strange. It felt like Tucker was telling the truth, but he couldn’t be sure as he didn’t remember a thing. Tucker could also tell him that he actually was a robot, just built to be a human, to make friends and kill them all after a while. It was strange. His shoulders slumped a bit. “So you’re telling me that I was a horrible soldier?”

 

Tucker made a movement with his head, which oddly looked like nodding and shaking at the same time. “Not necessarily. You were the calm pole for Simmons, grounded him when he freaked out, you were there when Donut needed someone to talk and didn’t bother if you listened or not, you were the one calling bullshit on Sarge’s plans when they had flaws or were ridiculous. You often told Sarge where to shove it when he again came up with one of his insane plans.” Tucker explained. Grifs confusion grew. “How can I have been a good soldier when I was horrible all the same?”

 

Tucker huffed. He looked like he was losing his patience. Strange. There was no clearly visible sign Tucker really was about to snap or something. It was like Grif just knew it. Again.

 

“Look. You might have been horrible when it came to following Sarge’s orders and to work in any kind. But you were a good one when it came to your fellow soldiers. You were the one keeping them grounded. You often used to sneak away and not do your duty. But this was just everyone knew and liked you. They would gripe at you, sure. But you didn’t give a fuck. And this attitude helped especially Simmons. He has so many issues, that he was happy to find someone not giving a fuck about his shitty past or whatever. You made him loosen up and stop being a nervous bunch of anxiety.”

 

Tucker would have continued his rambling when there hadn’t been a shout from outside. “Tucker did it!”

 

“Oh, fucking fuck, Caboose! What did you do again!?” shouted Tucker, already on his feet to leave the room before turning back to Grif. “Don’t worry, you were a good soldier. A lazy fuck, but a perfect match for the team.” Tucker showed his widest grin he could muster before disappearing through the door, putting on his helmet.

 

Grif let himself out after that.

 

* * *

 

It had been almost three months since Grifs accident. According to Grey it was very unlikely that he would regain his memory after such a long time. In Grifs case it was even less likely, because he didn’t even had a flashback or something. There was just nothing before he woke up in the infirmary.

 

Simmons felt horrible. He had lost one of his best friends back then in this accident. What was even worse was the fact that he was looking in Grifs face every day, knowing exactly that the guy standing in front of him was a completely different person. This Grif here was nice and attentive, trying to be a good soldier, not trying to be a burden for someone. He was nice. Somehow. This new Grif.

 

But that wasn’t the Grif Simmons knew and loved. He wanted the old Grif back. His old Grif. The asshole that used to banter with him. The Grif who was around when Simmons needed him, who didn’t give a fuck about his shitty past, who would ground him when he was about to lose it in his panic attacks!

 

Pulling up his legs to his chest, he laid his head on the knees, letting he world outside black out. He didn’t hear steps coming up to him. “You miss him, right?” Simmons lift his head, stubbornly refusing to cry, looking at Donut taking a seat on the roof or the base beside Simmons.

 

“Yeah.” Muttered the cyborg, trying to make his voice sound steady. “I miss him too, you know.” Said Donut calmly, ignoring the way Simmons looked. The lightish red armored soldier stared up into the nightly sky. The redhead didn’t care giving an answer.

 

After some minutes of quiet between them Donut continued. “I just heard from Grey that he’s physically ok. Just that with the memory… well, that it most likely won’t return. I’m sorry Simmons.”

 

Another pause, in which he seemed to internally debate something, before adding. “However, it looks like we have to get to know him anew. And, in your case, get to love him anew.” “I loved him how he was before. Not like he is now. He is nice now, but that’s not the character I fell for.” Muttered Simmons, also looking up into the sky.

Back in Blood Gulch they often used to sit on the roof when it was simply too hot to sleep in their bunks.

 

They would sit on the roof, feet dangling over the edge and talk about everything and nothing. They would discuss heavier subjects as well as banter pointlessly, bickering over hours, laughing about nothing in particular until their bellies hurt. Sometimes Simmons would explain him something and Grif would just listen, sometimes making a remark that he was a nerd, an all that.

 

He missed it. Since this accident, Simmons sat alone on the roof of the base, starring up to the starry sky.

 

* * *

 

“So we pushed the Warthog over the edge after Sarge jelled ‘shotgun’ about ten times before?” “Yeah exactly.” Simmons smiled wearily. “And what happened afterwards?” Grifs eyes were gleaming with curiosity.

 

Simmons pointed to Grifs hands. “This happened.” “Huh?” “The Meta grabbed your leg when getting dragged down. While you slipped towards the edge, you grasped for everything you could reach. Underneath the snow was hard and sharp ice, slicing up your hands. The Kevlar did do nothing to protect your hands. The ice went through the material like it was nothing.” “Ouch. So I managed to grab a hold on one of the sharp icicles?”

 

“Not exactly.” Simmons nervously began to fiddle with his fingers. “You were about to slip. I ran after you and managed to grab your hand. But your hands were slippery from the blood and you slipped. Somehow, you managed to lodge the bruteshot into the ice wall right underneath the cliff and hold on to it. We could lift you back over the edge after that.” “So you saved me? Again?” Simmons shrugged helplessly with his shoulders, his face having a tinge of red.

 

“What happened after?” Either Grif was even more oblivious to Simmons reactions than the old Grif ever had been or he politely decided to ignore it. Either way, the cyborg hated it. The old Grif would needle him relentlessly about it when he noticed something special about the redheads behavior, making sure to drive Simmons up the walls. He wanted the old Grif back!

 

“We dragged you over the edge, bringing you to the base. We had no First Aid Kit, so I made some makeshift bandages and told you to keep them over your heart and maybe on some cold surface to stop the bleeding.” Recounted the cyborg

 

“Back at the base, Sarge knocked you out with the shotgun. He probably though it’s more effective than a narcosis, and we cleaned out and sewed the cuts on your hands.” Explained Simmons, a fond smile appearing at these memories. It had been fucking annoying back then. Yet he wished back those days. Where Grif still was Grif.

 

Grif said nothing, just looking up to the stars from the roof of the base. It was the first time the orange armored soldier actually came up here to sit with the cyborg, watching the stars and talk. It was oddly familiar and yet so unknown that it made Simmons heart hurt. The redhead decided to tell Grif one of his fondest memories. “During the four weeks you always used to joke that you have mummy hands. Trying to get away with duties and even make me feed you.”

 

The Hawaiian snorted. He didn’t reply, which made Simmons fidgety. It was one of his fondest memories and yet Grif seemed to think of it as ridiculous. As he didn’t know this ‘new’ Grif, he decided to not comment or ask about this reaction, just taking as it is. He didn’t know what this reaction had meant, so he kept his mouth shut.

 

After this rather heavy subject, they soon went back to discuss more light themes, Simmons sometimes telling Grif what his old self would have done or said. It often made Grif shake his head in disbelief, asking if he really had been that horrible back then.

 

Of course, Simmons would deny it, saying that his reactions often were provocative, but that it was fine the way he had been back then. And that he was fine the way he was now. Although the last thing was a blatant lie.

 

* * *

 

The rolling thunder still was far, but Simmons was already laying curled up in his bed, shaking with fear and suppressed pain.

 

Thanks to his dad, he feared almost everything. He dreaded everyone and everything. Every new situation stressed him, scared him. Until some weeks ago, there would have been Grif, soothing and encouraging him. Making him stand through everything being thrown at him.

 

Thanks to Grif, Simmons managed to get over a lot of his fears, chasing them away just by being here. Sometimes, the redhead thought that Grif might have squashed Simmons fears just by flopping down on the bunk/ground beside Simmons, making him feel already a lot better.

 

Well, he couldn’t rely on this anymore. Grif didn’t remember having been his tower of strength. That he was around when Simmons felt like breaking down and cry. That he ever so often helped him through those nights where he would dread the thunder and wince from pain from the shifting air pressure.

 

The redhead had his back to Grifs bunk, trying not to be too loud to not disturb the sleeping Hawaiian on the other side of the room. The orange armored soldier crashed almost immediately after returning from dinner and getting showered.

 

It was nice, thought Simmons. No running after him to shower because the redhead couldn’t stand the smell of old sweat. Grif did it on his own.

 

Still, it didn’t feel right. He was so used to gripe at Grif for everything, he even loved it. Because it had been part of their own dynamic. Which got lost four months ago.

 

An especially vicious thunder made Simmons flinch, letting loose a slight whimper and burying deeper in his sheets. He already thought of moving down to the storage area. Thick walls letting no sounds in, no windows letting the light of the lighting in. All in all a perfect place to be.

 

Thing was, he didn’t dare. He was simply too much of a coward. Even the rain drumming against the windows made him almost freak out.

 

Thanks to another thunder, Simmons didn’t hear the shuffling from the other side of the bed. It wasn’t surprising then did he almost jump through the roof when there was suddenly a second weight on the bed. You know, like in those horror movies. Every time people get killed, it rains. There’s never sunshine when a psychotic killer takes bloody revenge on his former bullies.

 

“You know, I still don’t remember. It’s just like I know stuff. Like now, that you aren’t very happy when there’s a thunderstorm.” Muttered Grif. Old Grif would have never said that, thought Simmons bitterly. He would have just lift the covers, saying him that he should move over and settle in behind him, crashing out soon after.

 

Simmons grunted to Grifs comment. “You wanna move over?” Simmons didn’t move for a long time. Just when he felt that Grif would stand up every second now to go back to sleep in his own bunk, the cyborg shifted, making space for the Hawaiian to settle in.

 

At least something was same old, same old. Grif crashed soon after laying beside Simmons.

 

* * *

 

Since the accident, Simmons often used to sit alone in the mess hall. Grif was either around the lieutenants or he wouldn’t come at all, occupied with Sarges orders. There was one positive aspect. Due to his chance of character, he lost a lot of weight. He still was bulky, but not fat. He looked good like that.

 

However, since then, Simmons was alone. He often would sit somewhere, people not daring to get close to him. Even Jensen kept her distance.

 

Today was one of the days Grif would sit with the lieutenants, the redhead observing him from afar how he would laugh with the young soldiers, obviously enjoying the time together. Simmons long ago stopped denying that he wasn’t jealous. Just now, however, it hurt more than he was jealous. Because the cyborg noticed the strong bond they had before was slowly disappearing, leaving Simmons alone and miserable.

 

He was no social person. He would most likely be all alone when Grif wasn’t around. Honestly, the cyborg wouldn’t even be surprised when Grif would move out in some days. They drift apart. Faster and faster with every day passing.

 

Someone put a tray down beside him. It was Wash. Simmons recognized him, because he had about three apples on his tray. “He still doesn’t remember?” It was a casual question, but it hurt nonetheless. The redhead only shook his head, tearing his gaze away from the orange armored soldier.

 

There was a long silence, in which Wash began to eat, Simmons not really being hungry at all, poking at his food. “This really is bothering you, hm?” Washs voice was gentle, not commanding or high-pitched.

 

Well, it was obvious that Simmons suffered under Grifs amnesia. He was alone all the time, more introverted since Grey told them that the chances were under 1% that Grif would get his memory back, more silent. He always looked like his mind was somewhere far away, in a better place.

 

Simmons shrugged. “It shouldn’t. Grif is alive and I should be happy.” “Yeah, but he’s not the Grif you knew. And obviously you’re not really happy with the way he is now.” Again a shrug that should be indifferent, in reality it was only awkward. Wash sighed, taking one of his apples and start to eat.

 

“Maybe you should tell him what’s bothering you?” “He doesn’t remember, so he could impossibly understand why I am the way I am. So it’s better to let it go.” “Even if it means that you perish of this situation here?” Wash didn’t look at Simmons, but fixated the back of Grifs head with his steel grey eyes. Again an indifferent shrug. “Yes, it’s probably for the best. He’s doing good, so I don’t want to be a burden for him.” Muttered Simmons, standing up and leaving.

 

It really was for the better. Grif didn’t remember the things Simmons told him. He didn’t remember the things Simmons dad did to the redhead. He didn’t remember the talks they had. He didn’t remember anything.

 

Better to leave it like that. Even if it meant that Simmons would perish of it at some point.

 

* * *

 

Merely days later, Simmons was again sitting on the roof of the base watching stars, he heard someone walking up to him.

He didn’t bother looking around. The person coming would reveal himself soon enough.

Much to Simmons surprise, Grif sat down beside the cyborg.

 

“Can’t sleep?”

“Nah.” The casualty of the answer made Simmons feel like he was talking to the old Grif. But he wasn’t.

“Too hot?” Simmons tried to keep his tone conversational and light, not really wanting to let Grif know how he felt.

 

"You mean the weather or me?"

"Yeah.... What!?" immediately Simmons felt his face heat up in an incredible pace, the heat almost burning the tips of his ears.

"You heard it." replied Grif casually. This behavior was more the one of Tucker or Palamo. Not Grifs. That was so fucking strange to hear it that Simmons already forgot to be embarassed about the comment.

 

"Uh- I mean the weather of course!" someone give him a cookie for not freaking out and make a complete fool out of him.

Grif huffed, observing him with a grin playing around the corners of his mouth.

 

There was a rather awkward silence settling in, neither of them really saying anything. Simmons would have loved to run the fuck away. Yet he wanted to stay as close as possible to Grif.

 

"Hey Simmons." Grifs voice pulled Simmons out of his inner debate whether to run or stay. "You don't look healthy man. When have you eaten and slept properly?" Simmons hated it the way Grif was showing his worry.

 

He had worried about him before, but not this openly. Mostly because Grif had known Simmons so damn good and knew what was bothering him. Often before the redhead knew it.

 

"I don't feel so well." replied the cyborg after some moments.

"That doesn’t answer my question." stated Grif simply. "When did you last eat and sleep properly?"

Simmons looked down to the edge of the base with a caught expression.

 

"You were pretty lanky before, but now you're almost only skin, bones and metal parts. Let's not begin about those huge ass rings under your eyes.”

Simmons still said nothing.

"What is bothering you?" Grif still was this persistent asshole he had been before.

 

"It's nothing. Like I said. I'm not feeling so well." tried the redhead to brush off Grifs worry. As to be expected, he didn't buy it.

"Bullshit. This has something to do with me, right? That I lost my memory.”

"No! It's-" Simmons stopped abruptly as he saw the stern expression on Grifs face.

 

Shoulders slumping, the cyborg sighed heavily. "Yeah... You're right. You know, we used to know each other pretty well for more than twelve years before this happened. It's hard to get used to. I guess I'm still struggling a bit with that." he showed Grif a watery smile.

 

The Hawaiian observed him attentively, before saying. "There's also something else." it was a statement, not a question.

The redhead only nodded.

“Yeah, it is… No, it was. It’s not important anymore.” Replied the redhead, correcting himself.

 

“It concerned the Grif I had been before.” Did Simmons mention that he hated this newly found observatory side of Grif?

Simmons shrugged again, nodding his head a slight little bit.

“Would you tell me?”

 

This time, he shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t matter anymore. It was about the old Grif. It was gone when he disappeared.” Muttered Simmons a bit sad. He felt his eyes sting. God damn it, why did he had to be such a fucking crybaby!?

 

“So if I would remember, you would tell me?”

“Probably not.” Someone give him a cookie for sounding so calm and matter-of-factly. Although the redhead felt like curling up and crying right now. It was pure torture. You’re sitting beside your crush, but it’s only the body that is still the same (Almost). The rest of the person Grif was disappeared.

 

“Aw, come on! Why not?” pouted said Hawaiian, looking at Simmons with his impossible baby blue eyes. The old Grif had known how to use his puppy dog eyes to make Simmons promise or tell him everything he wanted. New Grif wasn’t that experienced in giving Simmons this look.

 

The cyborg sighed. “You know that the chances to remember are practically null. So why bothering about wanting to know a secret, which was about your former self?” It sounded idiotic, but like the only reason this Grif would accept.

At least Simmons hoped that.

 

“So if the chances of me to remember are so low, the chances of you not needing to tell me your secret are pretty high. So why not promise that?” Grif didn’t accept Simmons explanation. However, Grifs explanation sounded pretty logical for coming from Grif.

 

Again, Simmons sighed defeated. There was no avail. Grif had a thick head. That didn’t change with the amnesia. “Okay, promise. I tell you if you maybe would remember fully some when.”

 

Grifs face split into a huge grin. “Neat!” getting up with a low groan, he began pulling Simmons to his feet. The redhead was surprised when he noticed that Grif had gotten that strong.

 

“Jesus fuck! I already suspected you not doing so well, but being so light isn’t really healthy!” exclaimed Grif, looking over the cyborg.

Before Simmons could say something, Grif had grabbed his hand. “Come on, time to get you some food. I don’t want you to starve to death like a dog who lost it’s master.”

Simmons almost laughed about this comparison.

 

Grif didn’t know how close he was to reality. Not about the master, but the starving part.


	3. Chapter 3

Six months had passed since the accident.

Six months since Grif had lost his memory and personality.

Six months since the old Grif died and a new one emerged.

 

Six months since Simmons had lost his best friend.

Six months since the redhead had lost his crush.

Six months in which the redhead felt miserable and alone.

 

Simmons was done with his shift and in his room – alone. During the last days, Grif had been sleeping somewhere else. He still officially was his bunkmate, but unofficially they weren’t anymore.

Since Grif more or less moved out, Simmons had even more trouble falling asleep. He missed the regular sound of the Hawaiians breathing. Fuck, he even missed the snoring he often used to beef about!

 

Simmons just took off his chest piece, when the door opened and Grif came in. He already had stripped of his armor. The orange pile on the bed showed it clearly. Obviously, he already had showered.

Without any more word, Simmons stripped down to his boxers, leaving for the shower. He didn’t know when, but during the last days they had stopped talking with each other. Like there’s nothing more to say.

 

Standing under the warm spray, Simmons tried to calm down as much as possible. He still felt like breaking down and crying, but he couldn’t. He had a team to lead and Grif was still here. Just differently. The redhead just had to come to terms with it. Some when. He couldn’t be miserable about losing the most important person in his life all the time even though he would have loved to be exactly that.

 

After the shower, Simmons slipped into his civvies, slowly making his way back to his room. Grif still was there, sitting on the bed, deep in thoughts. The cyborg didn’t bother to pull him out of there.

Rummaging around in his drawer, he searched for a book Simmons had hidden there. Earlier, Grif would have used it as a doorstopper or something like that. Which was the reason why Simmons hid his books from Grif.

 

Drawing out the book, something fell down with a bright ‘Pling’ wobbling away. Oh, no! The ring!

Just like the lucky bastard Simmons was, the ring came to a stop directly in front of Grifs feet. Simmons face turned beet red.

 

Carefully, the tan skinned man lift the ring up, mustering it intensely.

“What’s that?”

“That’s a ring.” Squawked Simmons awkwardly. “You gave it to me some years ago because Tucker always joked about us bickering like a married couple. It was a joke.” Explained the cyborg half awkward half sad.

Grif didn’t reply, only starring at the ring like it’s a wonder.

 

When he didn’t say something, Simmons grew restless, feeling his face heat up even more.

“You know what? Actually, I should have thrown away the ring. It was a joke to fuck with me. You didn’t even think about what you provoke with this thing. It was idiotic to keep it.” Rambled Simmons, looking down on his hands.

 

He knew the ring should have been some kind of teasing. Grif had taken a washer, hammering it in a ring shape, before embedding something like a little glassy stone he found in the caves at Blood Gulch into it.

He really didn’t know why he still had this ring. Why he still held it so dear when it was meant as a tease.

 

Grif still didn’t answer. Looking up with a frown, Simmons could see him still stand there, staring at the ring.

“Uh Grif?”

Still no answer.

“Grif?”

 

Suddenly a jolt seemed to run through the Hawaiians body. He began to tremble, before rolling his eyes up until you only could see white, before collapsing on the ground. The ring again rolled away.

 

Simmons however didn’t care about the ring. With a huge step, he was beside Grif, just in the right moment to save his head from a painful collision with the hard concrete ground.

 

“Grif! Grif!” Oh god, this felt like a terrifying flashback of what happened half a year ago. Grif laid in his arms, unconscious, Simmons close to panic.

Grabbing for Grifs helmet, he didn’t bother if everyone on the campus could hear his high-pitching voice when he practically screamed for Grey to hurry the fuck up and come over.

 

* * *

 

It was in the middle of the fucking night when Grif woke up in his bunk. Strange, he didn’t remember going to bed. Besides,… he had been sleeping somewhere else during the last days. Why ever…

 

When he tried to move his right hand, he noticed that something was blocking it from moving. Looking down on it, he could see Simmons hand there, his head just beside it and sleeping soundly.

Carefully pulling out his hand from under Simmons, he tried to sit up. But his spinning and hurting head had other plans.

 

Laying back down with a groan, Grif massaged his temples. Fucking shit. He hadn’t even felt this bad when he was completely and utterly hungover.

 

Laying there, he stared up to the ceiling. What happened anyway? He knew he lost his memory about six months ago, Simmons trying to help him as good as he could. Some when during the last month, they stopped talking and began to drift apart.

Pondering over it, Grif really couldn’t say why that happened. They always had been best friends and suddenly, they drifted apart like they never had something in common.

 

Anyway. How did he get here?

He remembered coming back to the room after a refreshing shower. Simmons was there, rummaging around in his drawer, when something fell to the ground. Right the ring. He had taken it up to muster it and suddenly, he felt like someone opened the flood gates in his head, all those memories coming back like a fucking avalanche, rolling over him. That was when he must have blacked out.

 

Simmons of course panicked, thought Grif, closing his eyes again. Having a nap sounded like the best idea in days right now.

However, he didn’t have time to start dropping off, when he felt someone move beside him.

 

Looking down, he could see that Simmons was blinking, looking bleary and tired. When he saw that Grif was awake, he immediately was wide awake. “Grif! You’re awake.”

“Obviously.”

“What happened? Out of the blue, you collapsed! You worried the shit out of me!”

Grif shrugged a bit clumsy.

“Dunno man, I can’t really remember.” Lie, but he somehow didn’t want to tell Simmons right away that his head felt like it’s about to explode.

 

There was another silence, Simmons still looking at Grifs face for any sign of discomfort.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” That wasn’t even half a lie.

“You hurt somewhere? You fell on the ground like a sack of potatoes.”

“Not really…” before the accident he would have whined about every bruise. Now he didn’t think it was important enough to even mention.

 

“Ah…” replied Simmons after what felt like an eternity. Slowly, he began to turn around, ready to walk away. “I better get Grey to have a look-over.”

Grif was faster, grabbing his hand and pulling him down on the bed. Due to the unexpected movement, Simmons stumbled back, falling on the bunk with a squeal. His face was practically glowing in the dark of the room.

 

“Nah, I’m fine. Let’s just have a nap. Grey can wait until tomorrow. Besides, my head hurts too much to bear her squeaky voice.” Muttered Grif, pulling Simmons close.

The cyborgs head was tucked in under the Hawaiians chin. This body was rigid and his face hot from embarrassment. But Grif didn’t care.

 

“You know…” Began Grif after waiting some moments for the redhead to relax. He didn’t. “You weren’t shooting a rocket like a badass at Tex in the fight. You were panicking and screaming like a girl, almost not able to pull the trigger.”

 

Simmons sharply breathed in, nestling to get some space between them to look up at Grifs features. The Hawaiian looked down with his trade-mark smirk he often used to wear until six months ago.

“What?”

“I said you screamed like a girl then.”

“But- I- You-“ he stopped himself, shortly collecting his thoughts before asking in a hushed voice.

“You remember?” His voice carried so much different emotions. Fear, hope, disbelief… Grif almost couldn’t wrap his head around all the things he heard out of this little question.

 

The smirk turned into a smile.

“Yeah, I don’t know how, but the ring triggered something in me. Suddenly all the things I forgot came rushing back. It was hilarious. I don’t know, but I think that’s the reason why I passed out.”

 

Simmons didn’t reply. He only was staring at Grif in disbelief and awe, like he still was trying to proceed the information. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly agape.

“You really remember?”

“I told you just that, nerd.” Grif rolled his eyes, but his smile never leaving his lips.

 

A huge smile exploded on Simmons face. Grif could see that he was about to tear up. He opened and closed his mouth several times, without really being able to say something. He was just looking at Grif with teary eyes, like he’s the fucking eighth world wonder.

 

The Hawaiian on the other hand spontaneously pulled the cyborg in a tight embrace, again making him tucking his head under the tan mans chin.

Soon after, he felt how Simmons hands rose, tightly grabbing his shirt. His shoulders shook slightly, something moistening Grifs shirt. He heard low sobs coming from the redhead.

 

He kissed the top of Simmons head while rubbing soothing circles into the skin of his back. Normally, he would needle the cyborg relentlessly about his attitude to cry so fast.

 

But not today. He too felt like he would like to cry. The Hawaiian had tried to make the best out of the six months, but looking back, he felt like crying. If he wouldn’t have gotten his memory back, he and Simmons would have drifted apart, not even bothering to talk to each other.

 

They had been so close friends before, closer than normal friends would be, sharing almost everything. They understood each other without talking, they knew by heart what the other needed. Twelve years of fighting and bickering, of saving each other’s asses and helping the other through every day, everything would almost have gotten lost permanently.

 

To whatever god was out there, Grif bid his thanks that he remembered again and that he and Simmons still were so close.

 

After some time, the sobbing slowly subdued, as well as the tears. Grifs shirt was damp, but he didn’t care. Earlier he would have freaked, but since he remembered again, what happened after those six months, he didn’t really care. Strangely enough, it felt like a bit of the old Grif had stayed and got blended with his normal personality, making him being again a completely different Grif than the previous two were. Although he again was close to the way, he had been before.

 

When Grif was sure that Simmons calmed down so far, he gently nudged his shoulder.

“Hey Simmons?”

“Uh, what? Oh yeah, your shirt, you might want to change it.” Simmons began to pull away, the Hawaiian only allowing it to a certain point where he would hold Simmons back from further pulling away.

 

“You once said that there was a secret you have about my old self.”

Grif could see that the tips of Simmons ears again turned beet red.

“You promised me to tell me when I remember. And I remembered. You gonna tell me the secret now?”

 

As to be expected, the redhead shook his head, his face getting an even darker shade of crimson.

“Come on, you promised it at least”

“It would be too embarrassing. And it’s ridiculous.”

“Why don’t you let me decide if it’s ridiculous or not?”

 

Simmons again fell silent. Which made Grif feeling uncomfortable. He was just about to say sorry for his prying behavior (Something also left over from the six-months-Grif) when Simmons muttered something under his breath.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t quiet catch that.”

“I like you, okay? I mean, really like-like you. That’s also the reason why I kept the ring.” Mumbled Simmons. He had curled up a slight little bit, looking down to where he normally would have his hands – when he would be sitting.

 

The Hawaiian could feel the heat radiating from Simmons face, the tips of his ears even redder than his hair.

“Simmons.”

No reaction.

“Simmons, look at me.” Reluctantly, the cyborg lift his head, looking anywhere but at Grifs face.

 

A low chuckle emitted from Grif to Simmons awkward behavior. He always had been more awkward when it came to feelings, especially feelings for someone of the same sex like Simmons. His dad had been an asshole about that. Making him go camping in the fiercest thunderstorm, hitting him with his leather belt when he wasn’t manly enough, trying to beat the gay tendencies out of him.

 

Simmons sometimes had told him about his dad, what he heard made him piece together a halfway accurate picture of a horrible homo-phobic dad who tried to make his son a portrayal of his own, projecting his ambitions on his son, not caring what he wanted to do.

In hindsight, the military school may have been one of the best things his dad did to Simmons.

 

Grif took his sweet time to look into the green and red eye of Simmons. The cyborg eye looked back unwaveringly, while the human eye showed different emotions. Such as uncertainty, fear, confusion, sadness… His eyes displayed as much emotions as his voice had some moments ago.

 

Leaning down, the Hawaiian caught Simmons lips in a kiss, gently pressing his lips on Simmons.

The cyborg didn’t reply right away. The tenseness of his body showed it clearly that he was more than surprised.

 

After some moments, the Hawaiian pulled back with an amused chuckle. “You know, when someone kisses you, you’re supposed to kiss back.” Mumbled Grif before again pressing his lips on Simmons.

This time, the cyborg seemed to get what Grif wanted to do. It was awkward at best.

Obviously, the cyborg never had kissed someone before. Grif lift a hand to turn Simmons head just a little bit to improve their angle, so that their noses wouldn’t get squished.

 

It was their first kiss, Grif however didn’t feel like intensifying it. They both seemed to be happy the way the kiss played out.

 

When they separated, Grif pulled Simmons back in, again laying his head on Simmons.

“You know, the ring back then wasn’t just to fuck with you.” Muttered Grif, placing a gentle kiss on Simmons head.

“You mean-?” Began Simmons, his voice failing him.

“Yeah, I meant it. And I assume you would have accepted, since you kept the ring.”

Simmons nodded, something again wetting his shirt.

 

“During those six months I had no memories, I always had the feeling like I have forgotten something important.” Continued Grif. “I have forgotten that I too, really like-like you.” Again, he pressed a gentle kiss in Simmons hair, before nuzzling his face in it.

Simmons didn’t reply, only cuddling closer to Grif.

 

“We still should get Grey to check you over.” Muttered Simmons after an eternity.

“I know, but not now. I’m tired and my head kills me. I just wanna nap. With you.” Grif yawned heartily, nestling a bit until he was comfortable, again nuzzling his face in Simmons hair, only to fall asleep moments later.


End file.
